


The Journey Rose

by peoriapeoria



Series: Fitter of the Species [36]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. References, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Character of Color, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Circus, F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Marriage, Not Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Season 2 Compliant, SHIELD Husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 15:38:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17645579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peoriapeoria/pseuds/peoriapeoria
Summary: "While in motion, with an improvised projectile, you took out a man at 18 yards, without endangering any bystanders. If that doesn't impress here, it does me. And my agency is hiring."Clint Barton, before and after the circus, before and after SHIELD. Avenger.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Tesserae](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6145303) by [peoriapeoria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peoriapeoria/pseuds/peoriapeoria). 



> Kurt Wagner is still using a neural mask and Steve Rogers is a woman. Teresa appears but Clint doesn't know her name.

Clint wondered at the half-light of the gym. It was late for him but early for anyone else. He crept to get a line of sight. Kurt on the roman rings. Kurt's feet touching the rings, hanging down arms outstretched. Well, that clarified the nature of his mutancy; he watched just long enough to confirm JARVIS' assessment of Kurt's skill. He headed for his and Phil's floor.

Phil had contacted him; he was currently in quarantine, but Jemma thought he'd be cleared in time for Christmas. For now, that's what he knew. It was more information than Clint sometimes had, though less than he'd gotten used to. He got out of the elevator and headed for their bedroom, there stripping down and pulling on a pair of sleep pants. Less chance of startling Steve or Wanda in the event of an Assemble that way.

\---------

Clint liked the cook tent. Everywhere else he got underfoot, but in the cook tent, he was supposed to stay close. Nanna Nel wore a bandana while in the tent, up over her face like she was a movie bank robber. There weren't nearly as many things for a little boy to do with a circus. So far it had otherwise worked as his brother had said.

Barney wasn't let in the cook tent. He mocked Clint, but that was sour grapes. Only a few of the men were allowed, generally as they brought crates or bags of food in for the next meal. The cook tent had very strict rules, but that was okay. They were clear rules.

\----------

"So, you and AC."

Clint turned around at Skye's words. He'd called her, to Phil, a surprise daughter.

"Yeah." Clint knew the impression Coulson made on first meeting.

"Must not always keep his cool." Skye smiled.

Clint tamped down his memory of Phil in his office on the plane. "Perceptive." He watched the quarter drop as Skye pulled together the time Phil and he had had unchaperoned on the Bus. "I'm sorry about Ward." He hadn't seen Agent Grant coming, though in hindsight...

Skye grabbed his hand and held it. Clint clutched hers, a shared silence for all that was lost and complicated.

"So, how long have you two--"

Clint clipped Skye's question. "Last year was our ten year anniversary." Eighteen years with SHIELD. "I'm never going to get the SHIELD pen set." He'd not considered that yet.

Skye laughed, looked at him and chuckled again. "Don't know if AC could find his in his trashed office." She folded around him. "Take care of each other."

Clint hugged her back. He could do that.

\-------------

It wasn't an unreasonable assumption. Very few people would consider using arrows in NYC, much less using arrows to fight NYC crime. The police weren't exactly objecting since no one had been punctured.

Clint spread out the reports that he didn't exactly have access to--virtually spread them out, he was a spatial thinker. The vigilante was-- whoever it was wasn't broke. They'd left perps pinned by their clothing, the arrows now in evidence lock up. Top of the line arrows, at least before impacting trees, billboards, car panel... Purple fletching.

He'd not even considered that an option.

\-------------

Clint stood among the stacks of things he'd pulled out of his boxes. Now that Phil was back, the difference between this room and the others was more apparent. Before, it was the only room with furniture.

He crouched down, sorting the t-shirts according to their condition. He grabbed the best stack and stood, taking them to the nightstand with too many drawers. They had to be refolded, but they fit in the bottom drawer Phil couldn't reach from in bed.

Clint wasn't sure where he should put the rag pile, so he put those shirts back in one box in several low stacks on one side. They'd just fall over otherwise. In another box he stacked the old jeans and the newer jeans, dropping the sheets for the futon on top. Full.

He had unpacked some when Natasha had first brought him to Avengers Tower. Wigs didn't take to long-term boxing, and making them stands had been therapeutic. His few DVDs and games were in the low stand that ran below the comfortable viewing area on the wall. Mostly it held controllers. Those first months he'd just tried to hide how he'd lost Phil.

He looked at the smattering of not-clothes on the floor. A few things were records, so he piled them to go into the kitchen. He picked up form WN105-D and form RES157. He'd forgotten he still had these, they predated the box. Form 583B9 he'd turned in, and it had presumably been destroyed by Personnel before the military took over SHIELD HQ. He put the pages back in and sat his remaining clothes on top. The fancy party threads had a small section in Phil's dressing room, while his costumes lived with the wigs.  
\----------------

Clint was putting together a sandwich because he couldn't operate the stove without someone watching him. That was the rule, and mostly he obeyed rules, at least rules like that. Also, he'd used the last of the milk on cereal so he couldn't make pancakes. Hadn't been enough for pancakes. He'd eaten more cereal dry, but now it was time for a sandwich.

"Pack up, we're leaving!" Barney banged in through the door, shouting.

Clint didn't follow the instruction, he finished making his sandwich, took a bite and made his brother a sandwich. That was the last of the cold cuts and cheese. He grabbed his sandwich and ate.

Barney stormed up the stairs, and Clint chewed. He wanted Kool-aid, but he'd broken one pitcher. He gathered together the jar of peanut butter and the tin with the saltines and graham crackers.

"Clint!" Barney shouted and caught himself on the doorway to the kitchen. "Did you make me a sandwich?"

Clint nodded as he finished his. "There's Kool-aid."

Barney smiled, and Clint wondered why. "We're going, so pack together what you want to take. We'll ride our bikes, so nothing too big."

Clint humored Barney. He was never quite sure when they crossed the Iowa state border. Barney did pour him a glass of Kool-aid before they left.

\--------------------

The suits had stuck out, and not in the way the occasional petty politician looking to take advantage of a gathering of people did. Those, Clint had seen over the years, and some of them even had the skills of a revival preacher. They each tried to hide in the crowd, which, suits at a circus. He did wonder what the polished one had done to avoid attracting dust.

Clint still wasn't sure just what possessed him, throwing an apple core with intent at one of the suits. He'd continued on the clown walk, feeling the unusual calm in that section against his back. When he again could look at the stands, all the suits were gone.

It was the only remarkable thing about that day's show. Suits and him throwing something into the audience. Hadn't needed to relieve any drunks, or make other snap decisions. When everything went to plan, a Circus could be pretty calm.

"Thank you for the assist."

It was the suit without dust. It had to be hot in that much black, but the man didn't seem to notice. Not that he wouldn't be hot without the suit.

"A lot of the acts seem to be families. You're not in one of those."

Clint wondered where the man was going with this. It almost seemed innocent. Almost. The truth was Clint had skills but no act.

"While in motion, with an improvised projectile, you took out a man at 18 yards, without endangering any bystanders. If that doesn't impress here, it does me. And my agency is hiring." He proffered a card. "Security Heuristic Investigation Enforcement Logistics Division."

"Why an eagle and not a shield?"

"Legacy stationery." The man continued. "Would you pass security clearance checks?"

"I've lived in a Circus since I was nine, you tell me." He didn't get an answer right away, so this wasn't a man that spoke first and thought later. "You've not said your name, and all I've got to prove your agency exists is this card." Clint made it disappear.

"Agent Coulson. Always this Circus?" He pulled out a billfold from his suit jacket, flipping it open, showing a fancy badge of an eagle with an interstate shield for the breast, and a photo ID opposite. "It will be a challenge, one I look forward to."

"If you can prove one way or another you'll know better than me."


	2. Chapter 2

Clint started to wake up, and it had nothing to recommend it. He'd followed Trickshot and Barney, and this wasn't the road or his bunk. "Consuela?" He registered who was holding his hand as he realized this was a hospital room. She abhorred doctors.

"My son," she said in Spanish. "I need to let them know you are awake." She squeezed his hand, got up and slipped out the door, closing it gently.

Clint had messed up. He could only guess how they'd traced him back to the Circus. He hadn't gotten the money, he didn't catch Trickshot and Barney had left. Three strikes and that didn't include a hospital room. He could see that only Consuela could play this role out of everyone currently with them.

A doctor and a nurse came in. At least, they acted like a doctor and nurse. She wasn't in white, but it'd been several years, and this wasn't Iowa. The doctor checked his eyes, poked him in the ribs and so on, guiding Consuela to the corner to talk softly. The nurse asked Clint if he was thirsty and he was. She spooned him a few ice cubes, saying how it was good he'd been facing the road. They'd seen him by the headlights glinting in his hair.

Clint faded out after something was injected into the tube running into his arm, Consuela praying over him.

\----------

Clint smiled as Coulson sat at his table. The mission had gone well, and that left some time to eat and sightsee. Coulson had offered to play tour guide. He waved at the waiter and pointed towards Coulson and then to his beer.

"There's only going to be good light for part of the Cathedral today, but we can do part of it tomorrow, too." Coulson spoke in French. "Do you want to split crepes and a sandwich?"

"Sure." Apparently, it was the right time for pancakes. He let Coulson order when the waiter brought him his beer. Clint was content to listen to a mission briefing that had no death, just an explanation of a building from a long time ago.

Once the food arrived, Coulson went quiet after dividing things quickly. Clint decided context mattered because he'd have let people shame him for pancakes with beer before this.

Having eaten and settled the bill, they walked up to the Cathedral. Inside, which was very dark in comparison, Coulson drew them around following the sun's light streaming through, splashing color across the floor and sometimes up the walls. He pointed out images that represented who'd paid for the windows. That was pretty neat.

They came to a point where Coulson directed him to look up, straight up. The tower was above them, above him as his handler stepped away. It didn't even look real, the roof floating as if there wasn't the weight of stone stacked on other stone.

\------------

He had wondered about Coulson's white coffee mug. It stayed in his office, it was not the mug he could be seen drinking from around HQ. Clint wasn't sure why a mug would even be white outside a cafe where it let you know if it was clean or dirty.

While he was working on reading for his pilot's certification, he spent a lot more time in Coulson's office. And so, he first saw the mug in use. And the white mug had color change printing on it. He didn't know how he'd missed that, it must be the fluorescent lights, but with freshly poured coffee, it had a Captain America shield as if thrown, complete with motion lines.

Somehow, after seeing the mug transform, other details became more evident. Phil's money clip was a shield, just hashing, no color. Never carried that into the field. He'd thought the wing on his keychain was Mercury's, but Captain America had had them on his cowl. Every so often he'd notice a tie had stars in the white stripes, or socks just patterned with dark discs.

When Clint saw the kokeshi doll in a shop, lacquer blue cowl and shield painted on the body so the chest star could also be seen, he bought it. He put it in a shallow box with a folded paper flower to hold it still, and into his handler's desk drawer. Clint did affix some purple tape to the box so Coulson wouldn't decide to have it checked for explosives.

\--------------

They didn't have to buy a second marriage license. The first time they'd thought they'd be able to get married had had them on opposite sides of the equator and nowhere near Massachusetts. They should have perhaps taken the opportunity after that, but Clint's face had been very bruised, with one eye swollen shut. After a string of 'coincidences' interrupting further attempts, Phil used Sitwell as a decoy, and they squeaked in for May. Mom provided cupcakes and decorated the banister for photos. The exclamation point was nice among the white and silver stars.

Rappeling had been a bonus on their working honeymoon. Clint supposed, technically their honeymoon was the bonus. Work-life balance and SHIELD sometimes required creativity. He just wanted an engine for his next high-speed chase. He'd added positive associations to fireplaces. Associations.

There was no shortage of authentic cheese and chocolate.

\----------------

That Agent Coulson was hot had sort of slipped Clint's attention what with the time he spent with his voice in his ear. It hadn't been pertinent with the time he spent sprawled on the office couch going over skill improvement, filling out forms and occasionally testing his handler's patience/ability to recognize computer games. Mavis was great for the last.

Clint maybe should have noticed how much of his life included Coulson, but then he'd have had to consider how thoroughly he was enmeshed with SHIELD. Instead, the two things, Coulson always being there for him and Coulson being hot suddenly met.

If it had been any other question, Coulson is who he would have gone to. Sure, there were things he wouldn't take to his handler, but questions weren't among them. They were a team. Fortunately, because they were a team, he could use his internal Coulson to break the problem into pieces and see how they could fit.

"I like-like you." Clint couldn't believe his traitorous mouth. Then he had Phil's mouth on his lips and only could think More. His mouth worked on that part while his brain replayed Phil's actions. He had leaned into the kiss, giving it momentum. Clint ran his hands up and down, finding Phil's gluts and pulling them that much closer together.

"Why haven't we been doing this?" He whispered it because it seemed Phil was totally on this plan. Coulson gave an answer Phil countered trying to climb into Clint. "Any other delays?" Clint wanted them clear. "I want to have sex with you." So much did he want that. "A lot. A lot of sex."

Coulson took over then, straightened his suit and stated, "Follow me." He got them down to a car, drove them to his apartment and got them inside without any breath of indecency. Clint was amazed as he even reset the alarm before pressing him against the door in a mouth to mouth search.

"Bed." Clint wasn't having a poor outcome this close to success. He interpreted Phil and got them moving.

\----------

Clint didn't like the smell of asphalt. He didn't know why they'd used sharp gravel on this roof. Otherwise, it wasn't a bad perch, even with the sun beating down. Except that he couldn't see. He was the backup, and the handler didn't have a chip on his shoulder. Clint didn't think the primary was going to take the shot.

The handler might not have a chip on his shoulder, but he also didn't speak English, not the sort Clint did. Azimuth this, minutes off that, perihelion and attitude. Some Clint figured out from context. There wasn't enough context, and he couldn't see what he'd be shooting.

The primary took a shot, but from the radio, it wasn't the right shot. The coordinates on the radio were clear enough, and Clint scrambled across the hot, sharp roof to see the rocket and aim. He hit it, but it was still coming down somewhere. That wasn't any firework.

BOOM!

Clint went over the side of the roof, leaping to the fire escape and onto the power pole. He slid down, thankful he'd gotten the new boots broken in. The chatter gave up the street had been cleared, though the cars and their alarms squalled in outrage.

Parabola. Maybe if he'd understood the handler, he could have hit the rocket on the up and not the down. This chewing out he would deserve.

\----------

"You landed on your feet."

Clint knew that voice, but what had he done to deserve, "Barney, long time not long enough."

Barney stepped out of the deep door well. He was wearing a tan suit, carrying with probably an ankle backup unless he still carried a knife there. Clint waited for the hook.

"I wasn't sure at first it was you. I did a little digging. 'Hawkeye.'

Barney wanted something, something that he'd be useful for. He'd have to figure out what, since his brother had connections of at least a fashion. Otherwise, he'd dig somewhere else than his callsign. "How about we not do this in an alley."

Barney flicked a book of matches at him. Clint looked over the logo and address; it wasn't as rough as it pretended to be, perfect for its intended clientele. That pretense and clean bathrooms attracted another sort which probably included Barney. "What time?"

"Nine, tonight. See you then, kid."

Clint waited for Barney to go, then did his best on foot tail shake. Seventeen years and he had to run into his brother. He'd figured out Barney, with Trickshot, had been skimming the till and committing burglary. Now he couldn't even remember what possessed him to go after them on his own. He'd have died on the side of the road where his brother left him if it hadn't been for a country doctor with a repainted Crown Victoria. And if his hair wasn't sun-bleached.

\------------

"Why are you leaving?" Clint was getting a cold, that's why his nose was runny.

"I'm a great-grandma now, and I'm going to try living in a house again. They're in driving distance of Sarasota, so it's not like I'll be the only bearded lady."

Nanna Nel was dressed very old-timey, long earrings, hair piled up and topped with a hat tied down like a sail. She looked a little like a Coca-Cola ad, beard white, and mouth lipstick pink.

"Clint, I know this is hard. But, I have something for you." She opened her purse and pulled out a card folder. "One of my publicity photos. And my grandson's address." With that, she hauled herself behind the wheel of her truck RV and pulled out of the gravel campground.

Clint didn't open it, but he did put it into his stuff in the safest place he could.

\-----------

He didn't vomit up shwarma, but it was a close thing. He did have to go outside and breathe with his hands fisted on his thighs. Captain America was trying to be respectful. She didn't know he didn't know. Captain America saluted her number one fanboy, fallen in the good fight. There was no good fight that left Phil dead and Clint behind!

Natasha kicked gravel at him, guarding the cafe's door. She shook her head as he turned and looked up at her. He wouldn't believe that he hadn't contributed to his husband's death until he did the post-action revue. He'd allow he needed to be fresh, fresher than this to keep it together. They'd made promises, and the first one was they'd take care of themselves. It's not like this was unexpected. He'd thought it'd be him.

He breathed deep, exhaling and inhaling hard. The team, because they were one, whether they knew it or not, knew he'd been controlled, so he was going to work that angle and keep the rest boxed up. He was not breaking their cover when Phil wasn't here to defend himself. There would be people angry because his actions took their partners, their friends. That stopped at him, and it didn't reflect on Coulson. Okay, he could do this.

One foot in front of the other. And then right into Captain America. Not all the way; small favors of the universe.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think. You were part of a team." She was so young, for all that she'd fought World War Two.

Clint tried to include Natasha, but she'd superspy slid back into the restaurant. "He was a good man. Maybe not the best designer." The uniform looked to have taken enough damage to write it off, which would be for the best. "So, ready to lead this team?"

"I will be. I need to remind myself what I'm fighting for. Fifty states, now?"

That reminded Clint that someone had lost more than him. "Yeah, the stars don't fit as a circle anymore." The look that bloomed as she caught onto the joke, that it was a joke, priceless.

\-----------

Clint didn't much like sitting so far from his pack, which was against one wall, the furthest point from door or window the room offered. Agent Coulson opened a file of heavy card, with metal threaded into it.

"When did you leave home?"

"Summer of 1983. August. I can't recall the day of the week."

Agent Coulson paused. "I'm sorry to tell you this. The August 25th issue of The Waverly Democrat ran an obituary for Harold and Edith Barton. It was a car accident."

"Oh." That explained a lot.

"Do you want a copy?"

Clint shook his head. His parents had been dead for more than a decade, a photocopy wouldn't change that. "So, have I passed or do I catch up with the Circus?" He didn't have bus fare, he'd lost his buckle in a poker game. He did know how to cook, could do short order, probably.

"Best I could tell it was the same Circus, but the point was good. You've got a place in the new training class, Mr. Barton."

\--------

Clint headed down to walk the barricade. Having avoided the goo, he owed the team. Steve was having a small costume failure, nothing Superbowl worthy but Clint was staying away from Natasha. Maybe ice would save her hair?

Before starting the gauntlet, he wet wiped his hands and pouched the used tissue. He had a rule, fist taps except he would high-five small children. Them at least they could only get him sick. Thor and Steve could shake people's hands as much as they wanted. Bucky tended to seek out his fans and photobomb them.

So he did four sawhorses, and then he saw this woman, girl, pushing through from further back. It was so brazen that he stopped, just in shock. He could have started moving, and she wouldn't have broken to the front. She was dressed in purple as much as he could see, which really didn't say much. Shirt, jacket, headband, earrings. She was going to have a purple phone case.

"Hawkeye, I'm looking for a personal instructor."

Fortunately, she wasn't saying it in a chuckachuck bowwow way. She was, fourteen?

"I want to hire you."

What even was his life? This was New York, so likely the child wasn't delusional, just rich and spoiled. He pulled out his best big top pose, turned to the right and left, arms up. It made more sense when there were others. Clint circled back, he'd risk goo and Natasha instead.

\-------------

Clint looked down his sight. He had his target. He took out his comm and crushed it under his boot without breaking stance. He picked up the grappling hook and started spinning it to get enough momentum to reach the next building. It was supposed to be his route down. His mission had changed. He threw the grappling hook, swinging down as soon as it bit the stone of the building's low edge.

The woman spun as a distraction came through the high factory window, striking the heels of her hands into the faces of two men, her feet against another, mostly to flip over the stream of bullets cutting the room. She rolled towards the merchandise, the bait.

He might be getting older. Not much older if he didn't-- Clint fought like a Black Friday shopper. He flung himself back to lay lower than the gunfire. Clint stuck his hand in his pocket and whipped a stone. The thing about automatic fire, you tended to stay put, which meant anyone you didn't hit knew where you were. He ran after his stone.

The Black Widow got to the MP 4 first. She leveled it at him.

\-------------

"My brother's in town." He had wanted to handle Barney himself. He didn't want his past haunting his present, and everyone knew a SHIELD agent didn't have a future in the traditional sense. Clint hoped he could keep stringing his present one day after another, and he realized that Phil had to be told to make sure all of his days were worth having.

"I had a visit by an FBI Agent Bernard Burton."

"His handwriting is terrible." Clint realized he'd interrupted Coulson. This was Coulson.

"Agent Burton laid out an interesting interdepartmental coordinated enterprise. He did not mention you. I'm taking that as important. Your thoughts."

"Funny you called it enterprise. Barney will try to make off with anything not nailed down unless he's got a pry bar. How would having a double change the plan he sold you?"

Coulson thought. This was the expression that made the duller lights believe the android rumors. "As an ace in the hole, all he would need. Would your brother get you killed for money?"

Clint hesitated. "It wouldn't be the first time. Later, I'll tell you later."

Phil gave him an eye dart, and then Coulson explained a counter-op.


	3. Chapter 3

"I found your cousin." Phil looked rather somber.

"I lost one?" Clint took in his husband. Self-castigation for professional shortcomings.

"When I found your parents' obituary, I didn't look for a second one, that mentioned the rest of the family."

Clint decided to let this spool out a bit more because he'd not really found the line yet. Over the years a repertoire of things Coulson was and wasn't had developed, like incorrect Dr. McCoy declarations.

"In the process of doing a VR4 security clearance, I think I found your cousin. Do you remember your grandparents' names?"

"Grandma and Grandpa. I don't think my mom was--" His dad might have been better than what she left behind, he didn't know.

"Thought that might be the case--"

"Why were you doing a VR4? Those aren't normally done at your level, unless Natasha's-"

"Do not even finish that sentence. Agent May thought the surname was interesting since Ms. Barton lives in Iowa."

"Do I know who's marrying my maybe cousin?" Clint thought half of it was a reasonable question. "Did she pass the VR4?" He was him, it was a question.

"Provisionally. There's still the in-person interview. I don't see any problems, she's hardly responsible for you or your brother."

Clint clutched his chest. "Are you sure she's related to me if I'm the worst mark against her?" Needling Phil had to be done with care and Barney wasn't nearly so worn smooth for him.

"Non-negligible probability has to be checked out."

Clint thought about this. If she was his cousin, and Phil thought she was, so, yeah, then she'd be leverage over two SHIELD agents. Which meant anyone doing her interview would have to be just about Phil's level. "What's the play?"

\-----------

Clint drove a pickup with Ohio plates. They were going to see how this part played out and then Phil would do the VR4 interview. If Laura passed both... No need to reveal information until they were sure.

The house didn't look right. Now, he'd lived in an old farmhouse, so he knew the ways they could be drafty, leaky and just difficult in general. He thought he'd seen this house in subdivisions.

He parked and got out, he was doing a cold contact. It was a good thing he'd had reason to buy boots several years back. He crunched his way up to the concrete deck and rang the bell.

He'd not seen a domestic door with a viewport that opened, but he approved. It was also up high enough you might get to the doorknob, but you'd be in up to the armpit. "Excuse me, I've been doing some genealogy. I ran away to the circus, but I was from around here."

"That's what you're going with?"

"Happens to be true." Mostly. Close enough.

"Did you both go?"

Aw, shit, Barney. "Yes. How long ago did you see Barney?" No wonder she was cagey. It was wise regardless, but it made this work. She shut the inset door. He waited, then stepped down into the drive.

Clint caught the orange, the croquet ball and whiffle ball. Laura, who had dark hair pulled back held a fowling piece. "What's juggling going to prove?" He started with the orange, got the heavy ball in and then the light one.

"State your full name."

"Clinton Francis Barton. Look, I'm sorry about Barney. Last I saw him was six years ago. It was less fun than this."

"He said you were dead. That's what he told Grandma."

"When?" He tried to figure how old she'd even be. He tried counting on his juggling. Too many things he didn't know. "What did Barney do, other than lie to Grandma?"

"Not quite twenty years ago. If you'd shown up--Stop juggling."

Clint did as ordered, but he started peeling the orange. "I'm sorry. Though, he may not have known he was lying." There was no part of this that was good. He split off a section of the orange and put it in his mouth. He could have been curious when Phil told him about his parents. "I don't remember an uncle."

"They were having a fight. My dad told me about it. They were twins."

Don. Ron. It was at the edge of his memory. "Identical."

Laura nodded. She seemed then to realize she was still holding a rifle. "I'm going to go into the house and put this away. There are chairs in the back."

\-------------

"What should I be getting you for a wedding present?" Clint fell in with Bobbi. He couldn't fault his cousin's taste, though he did wonder how they met.

"Have Coulson pick it out. I don't suppose you have a photo of being told to juggle for your life?"

"She didn't say that. And she only tossed me three things. Five is more professional grade."

"I'll keep that in mind." She walked for a while. "She wanted to know if you'd be in the wedding party."

Clint stopped walking at that. Bobbi noticed and turned. He bounced forward, "Really? Why?"

"Life doesn't provide too many second chances. And she wants to walk down the aisle. Just pretend it's a roof, you'll be fine."

Right, her dad had died a few years ago. Her mom, who was alive, was a cousin of his mom; he didn't think first cousins. "She'll clear my not dead status with everyone?"

"Only for you would that sentence have nothing to do with SHIELD."

He shrugged. "But she will?"

\------------

Clint looked Laura over, the handkerchief hemline and trumpet sleeves were fancy without being hobbling. He rechecked his watch, missing Phil's voice in his ear.

"That camouflage?" Laura asked, looking at his hand.

"I don't get to wear it often, work." And with that, it was time for Laura's lipstick touchup and then to walk down to the barn. They hit her entrance cue and walked between the folding chairs. Several wooden barrels had been upended as a composite podium, lectern. A woman in a choir robe and a wide scarf, boa, stood behind them while Bobbi stood to one side in a very Mod suit with large self-covered buttons. Clint delivered Laura to her spot and gave Bobbi a cheek kiss before settling into the held seat beside Phil and Melinda. Agent Hartley was with them too.

After the ceremony, there was pelting of the newlywed couple with millet and sunflower seeds, who then went off for photography while some of the guests started moving chairs about and others drove off. Phil pitched in, and Clint didn't lose track of him. He might have noticed Melinda and Isabelle scouting the eligible men.

The dinner and dance reception saw guests back and some new people stopping in to give regards. Laura had made sure his alive wasn't a shock to anyone, though perhaps not warning him of just how many people remembered him. He said a lot of ma'am and sir, trying to recollect missing context for faces much aged.

"May I have this dance?" Phil was doing his best bland polite. It was a nice change from picking him up in the honky tonks.

\-----------

"Natasha, you are not a pot of coffee, don't borrow my shoes, you know where my kitchen is."

"Phil's not dead."

Clint tried waking up from his nightmare. He got slapped in the chest with a file folder.

"I've been on a special mission. Two, if you count putting this together. Fury lied."

Nick Fury lied on days ending in ay. He opened the folder and started reading. When he looked up, Natasha was eating his leftovers. "Where is he then?" It was not proof. It was suspicious.

"You haven't called, visited or wrote Mom Coulson or Beth."

That wasn't true, he'd sent a Christmas centerpiece and a sticker package.

"Fury also sent a centerpiece. Fortunately one of them fit on the mantle."

"Fury sent one, or Fury impersonated Phil sending one?" Clint got up and pulled on clothes. The socks were clean.

Natasha looked at him not impressed.

"Were they nice?" Clint started putting on weapons. He liked to give SHIELD security a little practice.

"Suspiciously so. Yours made it there first."

Okay. "Anything less circumstantial?" It helped to have a few details to round out threats.

"Melinda May has left the building."

Shit, whatever Fury was doing, he wasn't playing. Agent May didn't do fieldwork, though she still beat sparring partners weekly. Even without having the florists down, he was stacking.

"You are not haring out of here like that. Take a shower, dress like Phil would want you to, we're going to drink coffee as international agents of mystery."

\-------------

Clint sat on Phil's apartment couch. They've worked through backgrounds here before, though not since that night. He'd ended up on a mission that morning, and he was just back.

Phil handed him a sheaf of papers. "What are these?" He'd done his post-mission because he knew that would be an automatic non-starter. He flipped through them. WN105-D, 583B9 and RES157. He didn't recognize the designations. Phil tried to get him to do his paperwork on the computer, so why was he handing him hardcopy forms?

"You should have filled one of these out afterward. I didn't have any here."

SHIELD had a form for everything, but surely they didn't-- Clint read through the first form. Okay, he was wrong. They did have a form. He looked at the next one. He wondered what the third one was, and took a look. "Do you really think I need RES157?"

"As your handler, I don't want to assume which form is most appropriate. Especially since for two of those, I've got my own form to submit."

Clint peeled off RES157 and set it aside. He needed to take that back to SHIELD and shred it. He looked between the other two forms. They were pretty impenetrable, figuratively, since that actually was a question. 'Was there penetration?' "What's the difference between these?" He decided to just ask, "Am I going to have to fill out a form each time?"

"583B9 is the form for an ongoing, intra-SHIELD, liaison. WN105-D is part of a series of sexual contact forms."

'Sexual contact forms.' Clint asked, "Is there a 'sex pollen' form?"

"Incident, designation, and waiver." Phil sat in a wing chair. "WN105-B is the incident form."

"What are WN105-A and WN105-C?" Clint was willing to see if it was true paperwork turned Phil on.

"WN105-C normally is only filled out by medical personnel. WN105-A is for sexual contact with aliens."

"I'm disturbed that there is a form just for medical, related to sexual contact." Clint really, really was. He was wondering about the sex pollen waiver.

"In conjunction with a WN105-B, should medical supervision be necessary or occur. There have been times non-medical personnel have had to submit one."

Clint noticed Phil didn't specify 'in conjunction with a WN105-B.' He set the WN105-D on top of RES157. "I meant what I said, I want to have sex with you. Frequently and of my own free will. Enough I would do forms each time, but it would not be good for the environment."

"583B9 will be sufficient."

"Are you waiting on me getting this form completed?" Clint wondered how his life had come to this.

"I should wait until you submit it and allow for processing time. Since I couldn't explain it at HQ, I am in the interests of public safety going to make an exception."

"Public safety?" Clint was reading the form, making sure he understood the slots since he wasn't risking that this was the only copy of 583B9 outside of the SHIELD offices.

"I can, however feed you. Pasta okay?"

"Sure." Clint was filling in the form. Name, SHIELD number, handler's name were all simple. "Am I missing something about this form?" It asked a lot of invasive questions, but interestingly not the other party of the ongoing liaison.

"Look at the other forms and see if you still have a problem, I'm chopping an onion and sautéing mushrooms."

WN105-D also was missing the second party of the sexual contact. RES157, on the other hand had several sections, with the instruction to cross out unneeded areas. And to attach additional sheets, answers following the format. Maybe he could burn the form. "SHIELD doesn't want to know whom?"

Phil dumped the onions into the mushrooms, then added the liquid of a can of tomatoes. He stepped into the doorway.

"They will make a betting pool based on the dates. If they don't have at least two WN105-D or two 583B9, then they will get concerned. Or watchful if there is exactly one of each and the dates match."

Okay. And then it hit him. There could be more than two parties. "Where do I turn this in?"

"Personnel has a box. They change just where so only the most frequent flyers know where it is." Phil stepped back to the stove. "They like to make people ask, so they all get the notice."

\-----------

Clint was glad Sam had taken his call. Disturbing Natasha at the ballet required a much higher priority than this. Steve, she wasn't exactly stealth embodied. Not that was all on her, he thought paparazzi could sense her like an unbalance in the force. That or it was magnetism.

The three smugglers were joined by someone further up in the food chain. As he left, Clint followed. Aw, shit. He had not brought his bow, because all he'd intended to do was a little mugger/trash pick up. Aliens, why did it always have to be aliens?

Before he could be slimed or his head chewed off, a black car pulled up. A man with a derringer of a space-gun shot the money and the bodyguards. Clint started frisking them for weapons; he figured anything was a weapon in the wrong hands. He caught the pair of handcuffs tossed to him. He couldn't remember which letter this one was. Somewhere in the middle, he thought.

He closed his eyes and opened them after the neuralyzer finished. Yep, he'd gotten Sam. "He's an Avenger."

"Oh, sorry. He was helping you?"

Clint nodded.

The agent put a detective's cherry on the roof of his car, then went back to Sam. "Thank you for helping us apprehend these suspects." He extended his hand to shake.

Clint kept his eyes on the handcuffed aliens, in case they shook off the beam weapon faster than expected. A sedan, this time with a man and a woman pulled up, and the aliens were piled into the backseat.

Sam asked them for ID and got neuralyzered again. Agent Jay looked at the other Agents over the tops of his shades. He thanked Sam again for assisting Interpol.

Sam looked between the two cars, clearly puzzled. "Pizza?" he asked Clint.

"Sure." That was the best aftercare for neuralyzer. He shook Agent Jay's hand and then ambled off towards the nearest pizza. Hopefully, there wouldn't be any more problems before onions and pepperoni.

\-----------

Clint stood in what was Phil's office, his plane-borne office, looking around from where he stood with Phil holding onto his bicep. His husband showed the signs of mental conditioning, or instead of failing mental conditioning.

"I didn't remember." Phil looked like he was remembering now, whatever it was. "I'd forgot you. I swear--"

"What do you remember?" They were on a schedule.

"We've done paperwork. SHIELD and-- We got married."

"Yes, we did." At that, Phil kissed him, and Clint welcomed the interruption. Despoiling that desk was potent fantasy material, but clearing it would take a lot of time. Phil was already rucking his shirt and working himself down Clint's chest. "Subtract your ID from mine."

Phil mouthed it into his skin. Clint was going to take that as in possession of faculties. He wasn't as picky as his husband. And his jeans were open! He started going through state capitols alphabetically as he was nuzzled, hands fondling him wildly. And his jeans and briefs were pushed down to his calves, Phil blowing him like it was a race.

"Sacramento!" He held onto Phil's shoulders, his balance wobbly with the hobble. He tried to pull his husband up, get into his shirt, but Phil was putting him away and back together. He did get a searing kiss. His hands were having problems with shirt buttons, though interference was part of that.

And then May was announcing turbulence and to belt in. He looked at Phil and apparently his office didn't have any seat belts. Or, May would continue to find turbulence until they were in general seating. Either way, fun time was over. He followed Phil out, whose superpower was looking immaculate after all that.

Clint belted in and fell asleep to the team continuing their interrogation of Phil.

\-------------

Clint would like to believe he was persuasive, but the reality was before he'd said anything as to why she should trust him and/or come with him, additional bad guys crashed their party. Together they took out an escape route and brought the merchandise with them. Yes, with them. She'd take it back when he needed two hands, but she trusted him that far, or more likely her own prowess.

It took time to find a clear way back. Phil looked like he'd be conducting his own debriefing, but Coulson only disagreed with the gore Natasha was tracking.

\--------------

Clint wasn't making any headway with his vigilante, who was still going at it with a bow and arrow. He hadn't had it brought up again, but JARVIS might be looking at police blotters around the boroughs.

They weren't working a day job, or if they were, they had some serious flex time. They clearly had money. And the thing that was really interesting, these suspected perps weren't street level toughs. There were a couple of frat boys, current frat boys, he should look at that angle, but most of them were white-collar miscreants, which JARVIS was able to ferret out additional information about and add to the files. Someone was doing their homework and then going old school.

Clint had to give them props. These were men that if they did serve time they'd do it at a minimum security country club, so them getting pinned somewhere for pickup and possibly placed in a holding cell for a few hours might be the only punishment they'd receive.

The purple arrows were still niggling him. He had no luck finding their source.

Dammit! "JARVIS, there was a girl, maybe a young woman, at that goo Assemble. She was trying to hire me. Dressed all in purple. Any way to trace her?"

"CCTV is in grey scale. However, most Avengers fans have an app on their smartphones. This will take a few minutes."

JARVIS must be doing about a hundred things at once, each of which being a hundred smaller things if done by a human. He might as well as make a sandwich.

\-----------------

There was a lot of waiting in any mission and now wasn't any different. He might be watching a little more than usual, but he didn't know this team. How they fit together, how they'd zig and zag. Two scientists; Coulson had wanted to try that and he'd apparently gotten it as a 'thanks for not dying' present. The plane was pretty sweet for its retro vibe, though he was a little surprised Phil didn't worry about more than foxing. One agent's agent. He'd never warmed to Garret, but Ward seemed fine enough if a bit by the book. Melinda was flying this bird, but he didn't need to watch her. It wouldn't allow him to second guess her, but she'd be where she could do the most good. Skye was the interesting variable.

"My office." Coulson stepped past him, and Clint followed.

"You found a daughter," Clint smirked as Phil turned to look at him. "When you think she's ready, tell her to call me Mom."

\----------------

Clint was pretty sure showing up to another Assemble meant you wanted to be an Avenger. He didn't like his thoughts as to where all of the building would have ended up if she hadn't caught the building. He could see this wasn't going to be easy, though Spider-Man leveling the path she had for walking the building back helped.

Clint wasn't an engineer, but as someone that had survived his share of dropped buildings, the wall would crumble eventually. They needed to get Spider-Man to take a comm. Or share signs. That webbing might keep it mostly together. He ran for their mystery woman.

He stopped only once he was sure the building had done its falling and not on top of them. Now Spider-Man was webbing it. He laughed as Steve asked for the plate ID. He could tell the kid was doing most of the pulling, but Falcon and Nomad were making a good show of it.

"Oh." He tried to let go of their not yet team member. She apparently wasn't ready for that quite yet. The floor had held together pretty well, but that wouldn't have been good for anything in the way. "Can you walk?" Direct questions had a way of kickstarting things after a scare. "This way."

\--------------

Clint tested the edge of the net. He was also having JARVIS do the math since it'd been some time since he'd rigged the safety equipment for trapeze. Maybe it'd be a team building exercise; if nothing else he could work on Phil's hang-up about seeing him fall.

**Author's Note:**

> This story interlaces with other works in the series including:[Tesserae](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6145303), [The Things Brought Back](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10513455), [Cleave and Cement](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13077405) and [Accession](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17016447).
> 
> Great thanks to my beta majoline who shared the squee with me and has wrangled my haphazard comma deployment.


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